


Please, Please, Please Let Me Give Him What He Wants

by miilky



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Freeform, Implied/Referenced Sex, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:16:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6366505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miilky/pseuds/miilky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years is a long time. A lot can happen in ten years. What hasn't happened leaves them thoroughly unsatisfied. Judy's ready to change that, isn't she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please, Please, Please Let Me Give Him What He Wants

_"Haven't had a dream in a long time_  
_See, the life I've had_  
_Can make a good man bad"_  
     -The Smiths, _"Please Please Please Let Me Get What I want"_

The beer hall was eerily quiet. In a sense it was the perfect situation to slip into anonymity. The attendants were occupied with their drinks and meals, with each other and the oddly soothing music playing on the stereos, and the haunted melody echoed through the smoke and bubbles, soothing the patrons into compliancy. Judy stared wonderingly around her, smooth expressions and satisfied scowls, and she waved her paw at the bartender, a young female jaguar whose eyes bore the tiresome task as well as expected.

"You're excited," he smirked and slapped extra change on the counter, disregarding the rolled dollar bills' corners slipped into spots spread sporadically on the smooth countertop, "and I want that one, _yes_ , that one."

He spoke confidently, but it was strangely casual, humble at the right angle. He didn't look at her as the jaguar, assigned to this fox where no one else would, huffed and turned her back to them to retrieve the pointed bottle. Judy had seen it, hadn't recognized the name or brand, and she tried not to lean over in enthusiasm; knowing enthusiasm wasn't welcomed in a place like this. But her fingers tapped anxiously on her covered knees, and she couldn't quite stop her shoulders from rolling.

"It's light, this brand, nothing to laugh at, but it isn't going to-," turning his head back to the jaguar he snapped his fingers patiently, "I didn't say that one-no, must be your first day, that one."

Looking at him, there was a time when his muzzle was unblemished and smooth. The summer orange and red were left untouched with silver strands, and of healing scars, leaving streaks of irritated pink on his muzzle. She thought the silver was a nice touch, a mature touch, and she tilted her head to the side, as his muzzle twisted in an annoyed snarl at the bartender's inability to spot the exact brand he was looking for.

"Sweetie, it's right in front of you, do you need me to come back there?" He gestured at her madly, not angry in the slightest, but Judy spotted the droplets of frustration creeping on him. He was tired, and his bones were starting to ache. Forgetting was his best option, and he couldn't forget with just anyone. She didn't mind forgetting, and she didn't mind forgetting with him. But she couldn't afford to be the irresponsible one, not this time, and she sat with a wry grin on her face as he patiently explained to the bartender which bottle he was trying to request.

"Now, now, now you're getting it, careful, hot-hot-hot, cold baby so cold, good, you're burning!" He was loud when he got excited, or slurred excited. It was a show for her benefit, and sometimes, it infuriated her to think he was putting up with so much just for her benefit. But then, she reminded herself that he'd be offended, and worse hurt, if she denied him the chance to cheer her up, even when she desperately needed it. He applauded the bartender with overtly enthusiastic paw claps, and the jaguar prepared their drinks with efficiency she had yet to display. Her paws, though giant compared to Judy's, were slim and flexible, and they moved with such dexterity and carelessness that they were both caught in the moment as she served their drinks.

"Thank you, my dear," one mock bow later, they were staring at each other's glasses with a sense of exaggerated awe, and she giggled, raising hers and taking one tentative sip, "It's tangy…what is this…really sweet." Alcohol was still laced in the drink, it had to be, but it was overwhelmed with tropical flavors. One sip led to three, and she stopped at three since he ordered four more. This was their routine, and she was going to allow it to pass normally. It should pass normally, there was no reason for it not to.

Wary of amount and time, he drank to his heart's content in her presence, and as he swallowed, slurred, and barked in partial excitement, she watched the smooth lines around his eyes, darkened with age and wondered when did he get so old, when did Age decide to send its powers onto Nicholas Piberius Wilde? As interesting as it was, as quiet as the world around them was, she couldn't stop staring at his movements-growing more animated as Time progressed, and she glanced at her reflection in the glass mirror on the bartender's side, covered with bottles and bottles of high priced and low priced alcohol. The reflective glass wiggled, and she presumed her altered image reflected her thirty-two years, added stress and happiness combined into one, increasingly wrinkled rabbit. But does gray show in gray, or was it white as her grandmothers' and great aunts were?

" _Juddddyyyyyeeee,"_ one hiccup, five hiccups, and she turned on the stool to look at him in the eye, and bags ravished his eyes, marring the clear white with pinched redness, "Judy, Judes…I'm a mess."

His head fell on the counter, and he closed his eyes. A part of her knew she should be aggravated, frustrated that he allowed it to go as far as it did, but her lips pulled up and an airy sigh lingered between them, "I know, Nick, I know."

Calling a cab was a snitch compared to what it was during her first month in the city. Her fingers slipped to her mouth, and the sharp whistle earned her an easy call and an indignant whine from her companion. She didn't hide the proud grin as she opened the door, thrusting his limp body into the backseat. The driver, a mole with thick rimmed-wide glassed spectacles, asked no questions except for directions to his apartment, and she sunk into the tattered seat while his head lie on her lap.

His breathing was undisturbed, easy, and she looked at him, bright lights shinning on silver mixed into red, silver bleeding into red, red thinning into silver. She could call him handsome, she believed, and it wouldn't be a lie. His eyes were closed, breathing easy, and his paws twitched as he rolled and tossed in vivid dreams she had no way of knowing. Hot breath poured on her legs, and despite the rancid, sweet stench of alcohol's touch, she giggled and smiled and sighed. Her paw smoothed on his forehead, and his breathing eased, his head leaned into her touch.

"Make a right," she said, and the mole did as he was told.

Their decade old routine hadn't slowed, had shown no signs of slowing, and she carried his taller, heavier body upstairs to the second floor. She found his keys chained to the bottom of his pockets, and jiggled it into the keyhole, sighing in relief as the lock gave way to the key's authority. Warm air punched her in the face, and she sniffed, absorbing his familiar, cheap cologne odor that managed to comfort her in the deepest fits of depression and solitude.

Glass of water, two painkillers, one thick quilt for him, and she was set to go. Still confused why insisted on wearing a coat in the middle of summer, not that summer nights couldn't be cold, she extracted it off his body and rolled him on his back just in case he didn't make it to the toilet in time. His bedroom smelled of clamored, and so used to the scent, she didn't mind it. His bed sheets, however, were sweeter and had a honey, laundry scent to them, and she gazed at them wonderingly. She couldn't make out the flower stripped imprints in the darkness, but she had seen these bed sheets more than she could count, as it was with the rest of his bedroom, his home.

"You'll be alright on your own, so don't worry," she murmured, and turned to leave, expecting a snore or two in response. When she didn't feel stiffness around her wrist, strong and unyielding, she looked back and stared with half-lidded eyes, drooped ears, and smiled despite the faint fuzziness in her stomach. It was a good idea to not have drunk as much as she usually would have.

"S'okay?" Was the snored response, "Tell me what happened."

Her ears twitched, her lips frowned, and she stopped mid-step, staring at the open door. She could walk out the door, pretend he had said nothing-account it to the liquor, and tomorrow morning the signs of any occurrence would have thinned out alongside dawn's coming. She could've done anything, anything in opposition to the calling question, and Judy sighed, letting her shoulders slump in quiet defeat. Because this was what he wanted; this was how he planned it.

"I can't say anything happened," she sat to the lower edge of the bed, away from him, and she pinched his toes playfully, "nothing happened. It isn't something. I don't know."

He was looking at her now. She couldn't see him in the darkness, not fully anyway, except for the distant, vague outline of his body ruffled in the bed sheets. On the other hand, she knew he saw her in her entirety, and it was fur, skin-peeling excitement she had tried to rid herself of the moment she understood what his night vision entailed. His toes curled under her touch, and his swift breathing sagged. She lowered her head and focused on her paw's dim movements, and she forced her thoughts away from his penetrative stare.

"Not good enough, Carrots," movements turned, he was on his side, staring, "come on, tell me…might work better if you did."

"I doubt it." She grinned sadly, "I…doubt…it, it isn't that important anyways, and it isn't like I get what I want anyways."

He raised his head. She raised her head. A beat passed, and they laughed, chuckled quietly in the night. "Okay, okay, fair enough, I do get what I want, but really…what I'm saying now is that…I love working hard for the things I want," she swallowed, and tried not to think of him lying right in front of her and yet, cliché-like, seemingly far away, "but I'm not sure."

"Sure of what?"

"I…," she hadn't planned what she was going to say, and she smacked her lips in annoyance. Of course, of all the times she had worked her phrases and paragraphs, they sounded flat in her head. An argument would make it easier for her, she could blurt it out then, and blurting it out in anger was better than sadly mumbling it, "I'm not sure you like me-,"

There were sounds of shifting, decisive movement, and yes, he was drunk, more than drunk-intoxicated. But in less than two seconds she didn't feel his toes around her fingers but his face staring into hers. Darkness couldn't save her; although he was blind to her, she seemed to see everything locked in his eyes, body, and mind. It was frightening, terrifying in most cases, but she was eerily calm with her droopy ears and twitching nose. She wasn't afraid of him, they realized, but what this could lead to.

"I love you," he said calmly, and there was scrutiny, disbelief- _What did she mean_.

She nodded, "I know, and I love you."

"Hmph…," his neck rolled, she heard the stiff pops in his neck groan in protest, "it isn't good loving me, Carrots-no good at all."

"You're one to talk." Her answer was an automatic defense spoken quietly, "I can give you three good reason why nothing good comes from loving me."

"Name them."

"You wouldn't have gotten mauled by that berserk lioness-,"

"Zootopia General did great work on fixing this muzzle back, I look ten years younger."

"Or shot in the ass," she choked on the last word, "pushing me out of the way of that stray bullet."

"Again, spending two weeks in a hospital bed, surrounded by wonderful nurses, was not a bad thing."

"And…dammit Nick," she started to chuckle and covered her mouth her paw, "I'm serious. Let me get to three."

"And so am I." He grinned, and she could hear his grin in his voice. It was easier to hear and feel with him around, without having to see it happening in real time, and she sighed, throwing her head back to stare at the bumped skin ceiling, which she peered at in memory, "Listen, Judy, let me counter all three of those things-yes, including the one you didn't get to say, with this. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here."

"You wouldn't be here?"

"Nope." His claws raked happily down her drooped ears, and she let the shivers go down her spine with the kind of secrets lovers shared in the deepest parts of night, "I don't know where I'd be, but I like being right here, so take it and stuff it in your dumb bunny brain."

He tapped her forehead with his claw, and she swatted it away, "I wouldn't be here either, if not for you, so you better get that through your dumb fox brain."

"It appears we're at an impasse then," his voice had a cement texture to it, grating as the years worn on, and she was not surprised or bored with the effect it had on her, the soothing scratchiness, "this dumb fox thinks you're great, and you, dumb bunny, thinks I'm great."

She stared at the closed window with its beige curtains concealing the city lights, "What are we going to do?"

"Carrots, as always, we've got three options," and he scooted behind, wrapping one of his spidery arms to her front, and she openly relished in his warmth, despite the bitter alcoholic scent, "you can go to the front, go to sleep like you planned, and we'll never speak of it again. I can go to the front, go sleep like you planned, and again, no speaking of it. Or you can go home, never come back, and I'll be okay with that."

Even in the darkness she saw his wry grin, and the last bit was touched with sad resignation. Looking at him, through the darkness, knowing he was looking at her, and seeing her, made her angry. Her saw inside and through her, no worst than an x-ray, and always better at seeing her than she ever was seeing him. Her fingers clenched then relaxed, and she breathed determinedly, swallowing her pride and confusion and worries of what this insignificant action would entail.

Her slim body raised up, and he must have assumed she was preparing for departure. His arms reluctantly pulled away from her, and his body pushed in motion to return to its matted space on the bed. She stopped him with sharpness, grasping his muzzle with her paws, and she pulled him down while she kneeled on the rumpled bed sheets, pulling him to her. Closing her eyes, when their lips connect, there were no fireworks, no world spinning, and she fought the urge to release him when he didn't immediately respond.

It didn't take him five seconds, and slowly, inch by painful inch, his mouth responded to hers. And yes, there were complications, complications they battled as she collapsed back first. She was Judy Hopps, and she took the initiative, even when she was confused and too stubborn to admit her lack of experience. Slow turned fast, and their paws patted at each other, curious and inquisitive. He pinched her there, she slapped him there, and they gasped for air, grinning ear to ear in the darkness.

"I'm drunk," he rasped, "and will probably forget this ever happened in the morning."

"I'm not, and will not forget this in the morning, which is five hours away approximately," she was on fire. Her body burned, and it burned for him, as strange as it was to admit. But it wasn't as strange as she thought it'd be.

"We have three options."

"And all three of them include me waking up beside you in approximately five to seven hours."

He grinned, she laughed, and the world swirled, was forgotten, in the midst of their haphazard heavy petting and thrusting.

"You're going to need these," sunlight peaked through the curtains, and not the early morning kind. It had brightened over the hours, and Judy estimated it was sometime past noon.

"Gah, can I die already?" On his stomach, he sandwiched his head between two pillows, and one eye flashed at her, bloodshot and red, "Am I dead? Heaven's too G-rated for this kind of stuff."

"That killer headache tells me you're not dead, so take them," sort of bruised, but in an entirely good way, she didn't rise out of bed like she normally did. By time his eyes parted she was usually out the door, down the stairs, safely tucked in an anonymous cab on her way back to her apartment. There were questions about her suspicious activities at work, no recounts of what the previous night held in possession, and she was fine with that.

On his back, he lifted up to balance on the headboard, and he swallowed pills and water in one quick gulp, "How far are we going to take this, Carrots?"

She hummed, tapped her knees under the bed sheets, the throbbing between her legs now a distant drumming, "As far as we want to, I should have been more direct last night."

"Maybe…not that you weren't outwardly directly last night," he endured this tango because he loved her. He endured it because he wanted her near. As selfish as it was, her trust didn't sustain him as sufficiently as he thought it would, and she always, always offered him a piece of her soul he couldn't keep.

Her head fell on his arm, "I could put on one of your old shirts, the Hawaiian one you always liked," violet eyes looked at him innocently, and her lips spread into a lazy smile.

"That's pretty cliché, Hopps."

"But you like cliché."

"I do. It's a curse, really," instead of getting out of bed, venturing in search of that familiar Hawaiian themed shirt, he rolled on top of her, and she barked a single laugh before she was laid horizontally on the bed with his arm across her waist, pulling ever so closely into him that it almost became smothering.

His easy body arched perfectly, and she listened to his heart's smooth beating, "Thank you," he rasped and nuzzled her forehead, "for staying, thank you."

"I couldn't afford the cab fare," she smiled against his chest, and wondered if her own heart was as easy as his. If it wasn't, he made no outward mention of it, and she didn't mind the warmth and closeness. What they wanted was what they got, and they couldn't ask for anything more.

Except more aspirin and coffee, they weren't morning people. Not today.

**Author's Note:**

> A non-adoption au story. I thank The Smiths and The Dream Academy for their renditions of this song, which was on constant replay while writing this.


End file.
